


Paper Crowns and Waverunners

by hollycomb



Category: South Park
Genre: Bar & Bat Mitzvah, Birthday, Birthday Party, Birthday Presents, Birthday Sex, Growing Up Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1823968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollycomb/pseuds/hollycomb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyle's birthday celebrations, from five years old to sixteen, have always involved Stan. His participation evolves over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Crowns and Waverunners

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and originally posted this (on Livejournal) three years ago. The original title was 'Birthday Present,' which was a pretty lame title.

The first birthday Kyle remembers is his fifth. His family had moved to Colorado just three months before, and he only had one real friend in his pre-school class. Being friends with Stan came with the benefits and downsides of inheriting Stan's many acquaintances: quiet Kenny, buttface Cartman, weirdo Butters. Most of the time Kyle preferred to play with only Stan, who was smart and nice and funny, but the others were always tagging along, and sometimes having the whole crowd around was good. Kyle needed people to invite to his birthday party, after all.  
  
The party was at Whistlin' Willy's. Kyle wore a gold paper crown provided by Whistlin' Willy himself, and Cartman made fun of him for it. Kenny wrapped breadsticks in napkins and stuffed them in his pockets for later. Stan gave Kyle a Super Soaker and they made plans to have water wars over the summer.  
  
"Cartman can't be on our team," Kyle said, adjusting his crown.  
  
"I bet he'll cry when you blast him with this," Stan said, patting the gun. Kyle grinned. He offered Stan some jelly beans from the fancy white box that his mom had given him. Stan studied them carefully before picking out a few cherry and cotton candy flavored ones. Cotton candy was Kyle's favorite, but he didn't mind Stan eating some.  
  
"Are you my best friend?" Kyle asked, the question exploding out of him almost uncomfortably. He flushed when Stan looked up from the jelly beans.  
  
"Yeah," Stan said. "Are you mine?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
They smiled at each other, and Kyle felt something click into place inside his chest, the first important piece in the scattered puzzle of his life.  
  
*  
  
On his sixth birthday, he did not wear his crown, even though this one was handmade by his mom. His party was in their backyard, with streamers and a balloons and a clown that scared Butters. Cartman claimed to have licked every inch of Kyle's birthday cake while no one was looking, and while Kyle suspected he was lying, he still couldn't bring himself to eat the frosting, just the inside part. By two in the afternoon it had started raining, and everyone had to be ushered inside.  
  
Still mad about the cake and vowing never to invite Cartman to another birthday, Kyle went up to his room while the party continued downstairs. Stan came to find him when everyone began to wonder where he'd gone.  
  
"Your mom says it's time for presents," Stan said. He sat next to Kyle on the floor, where he was attempting to concentrate on Legos, mostly just scowling and wondering if he'd get in much trouble for hitting Cartman.  
  
"What did you get me?" Kyle asked.  
  
"A football that says Broncos on it," Stan said.  
  
Kyle nodded and got back to building his Lego house. Stan watched him for awhile, then picked up a few plastic Lego trees and began landscaping the green plastic yard that Kyle's house sat on.  
  
"I don't think Cartman really licked your cake," Stan said.  
  
"I don't care," Kyle said, muttering. "How tall is your house going to be when you grow up? How many floors will it have?"  
  
Stan thought about it for a moment. "Five," he said.  
  
Kyle was going to say ten, but maybe that was greedy. "Mine, too," he said.  
  
"And I'm going to have a pool that you can jump into from the roof," Stan said.  
  
"That's dangerous," Kyle said. Two weeks ago Stan had driven his big wheel off a ramp on a dare. He fell over and cut his cheek pretty badly, but didn't cry. Kyle had almost cried just from watching Stan crash. Who would be his best friend if anything ever happened to Stan? Kenny? Butters? Definitely not Cartman. No one else would fit.  
  
"Boys, what are you doing?" Kyle's mother asked when she stuck her head inside the door. "Kyle, your friends are all waiting for you to open your presents!"  
  
"I'm coming," Kyle said, grumbling as he stood up. Stan followed him to the door.  
  
"Honestly, I've never seen such an ungrateful birthday boy," Kyle's mother said as they headed down the hall. "You won't even wear your crown!"  
  
"Why won't you wear your crown?" Stan asked.  
  
"'Cause it's dumb," Kyle said, though Stan could probably guess the real reason. He didn't want to get made fun of like he had last year.  
  
"I don't think it's dumb," Stan said.  
  
"Yeah? So why don't you wear it?"  
  
Stan put the crown on as soon as they got downstairs. He wore it for the rest of the party, Kyle's name written across the front in big green block letters. Stan got made fun of quite a bit, because it made no sense: it wasn't even his _birthday_. Stan just shrugged and ignored the comments. He was one of the last kids to leave, and before he did he took off the crown and put it on Kyle's head. Kyle wore it to bed that night, hugging the Broncos football.  
  
*  
  
For his seventh birthday he was allowed to take two friends to the local amusement park. Stan and Kenny wanted to go on all the scary rides, but Kyle was too short for everything but the babyish stuff. It was an embarrassing and unpleasant afternoon until they reached the park's arcade, where Kyle's father gave them all ten dollars worth of tokens. Kenny was the best video game player among them, but Kyle was pretty good at the racing games, and he won a long string of tickets that he traded in for a toy car and a bouncy ball. They spent most of the rest of the day in the arcade, daring Kenny to eat candy that people had dropped on the ground. He did so without a moment's hesitation, which made Stan and Kyle laugh.  
  
"Why does he do that?" Kyle asked as they watch Kenny chase down a blue Skittle that a little kid had dropped.  
  
"Cartman says it's 'cause he's poor," Stan said.  
  
Kyle had heard that before. He felt bad for laughing, and made his dad buy everybody soft pretzels and sodas when Kenny returned. When they dropped Kenny off at his house, Kyle leaned up to look at it through the window: there was a big tear in the screen door, a car without wheels in the yard, and the paint was peeling.  
  
"I don't think it's just 'cause he's poor," Stan said as they pulled away. "The candy thing."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I also think he's just brave," Stan said. "You know? Kenny's not afraid of anything."  
  
That made Kyle feel a little better about laughing while Kenny ate M &M's off the arcade floor, but it also made him jealous. Kenny was much braver than Kyle, who had been relieved when he was too short for the scary rides.  
  
"Sorry you guys couldn't ride the cool stuff," Kyle said. He turned to stare out his window, and looked back at Stan when he reached over to tug on Kyle's elbow.  
  
"It doesn't matter," he said. "It was fun." He grinned. "We have to tell Cartman how much fun we had, and how we got ten whole dollars at the arcade. He's gonna be so pissed off that he couldn't come."  
  
Kyle laughed with delight at the thought, his eyes beginning to droop as he fantasized about Cartman's rage. By the time they got to Stan's house it was dark, and Kyle woke up with his head on Stan's shoulder, Stan muttering sleepily as his mother reached in to unfasten his seat belt.  
  
"Wait," Stan said before his mother could pull him out of the car. He was drowsy, rubbing at his eyes. "I never gave Kyle his present."  
  
"Well, hurry up," Stan's mother said. "It's late."  
  
Stan reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, clumsily wrapped package. It was surprisingly heavy.  
  
"Don't open it til you get home," Stan said. He crawled across the seat to whisper in Kyle's ear: "It's a secret."  
  
Kyle slipped the gift into his pocket and nodded, waving goodbye to Stan. As soon as he got home he went up to his room to open Stan's present in private. It was a small pocket knife, something that Kyle's parents would have confiscated if they found out about it. He wondered where Stan had even gotten it - from Kenny, maybe? Kyle hid it in the bottom of his sock drawer, feeling braver already, though having a secret from his parents made his heart pound.  
  
"What did Stan give you for your birthday?" his father asked while Kyle was brushing his teeth. Kyle leaned over to rinse his mouth out, glad for the opportunity to come up with a lie.  
  
"He made me a picture of us that says 'Best Friends,'" Kyle said. It felt true, in knife form. Who would give something as awesome as a secret pocket knife away unless it was to his best, best friend in the whole world? Kyle beamed at his reflection so brightly that his father laughed.  
  
"Sounds like it really means a lot to you," his father said. "Want to put it in a frame?"  
  
"Nah," Kyle said. "It's our secret picture."  
  
He stared at his bedroom ceiling for a long time that night, thinking about all the awesome secrets he would have with Stan as they got older. There would be things that no one in the world would _ever_ know except for the two of them. The idea made his toes curl up under his blankets, and he fell asleep still smiling.  
  
*  
  
Kyle was sick on his eighth birthday, a complication of the diabetes he'd been diagnosed with just a few months after his parents brought home a screaming Canadian baby called Ike. Kyle was still shell-shocked from suddenly having a brother, and he was so sick that he couldn't even get out of bed, clammy and feverish. His parents brought his cake into his room and let him blow out the candles. It was a sugar-free cake, and it tasted like corn meal.  
  
"Some of your friends have come to say happy birthday," his mother said as Kyle glumly poked at his slice of cake. "Are you feeling well enough to see them?"  
  
"Is Stan there?" Kyle asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. Stan had been coming over every day to bring Kyle comics and keep him company. Kyle almost always fell asleep before they finished reading the comics, and twice had woken up to Stan sleeping beside him.  
  
"Yes, Stan is there," Kyle's mother said. "And a few of your other little classmates, too. They've brought you presents - isn't that sweet? Should I send them up?"  
  
Kyle nodded, and a few minutes later the boys were tromping into the room, bearing wrapped gifts: Stan first, then Kenny, followed by Butters and Token. Kyle scowled when he saw that Cartman was among them.  
  
"Damn, Kyle, it smells like something died in here," Cartman said as soon as Kyle's mother was gone. "Maybe you should empty your bedpan once in awhile."  
  
"Shut up, fatass," Stan said. He grinned and held out his present for Kyle. "Happy birthday, dude."  
  
Kyle tore the wrapping paper away to reveal a detective play set that he'd been wanting for months. Forgetting that Cartman was present, he hugged it to him and beamed at Stan.  
  
"Let me see that faggy thing," Cartman said, trying to get to it. Kyle leaned away and Stan assisted him in blocking Cartman's access.  
  
"Give Kyle his present," Stan said. "Or you can't stay."  
  
"You're not the boss of Kyle's house!" Cartman said. He thrust his gift at Kyle; it had obviously been wrapped by Cartman's mother, very neatly. Kyle opened it with caution, and frowned as he pulled out a toy truck that looked exactly like the one that had been missing from his sandbox since last year, scuff marks and all.  
  
"Dude, is this mine?" Kyle asked. Cartman scoffed.  
  
"No, you ingrate," he said. "My mom spent a lot of her hard-earned money on that, so you'd better thank me properly."  
  
"Fuck off, that was Kyle's and you stole it," Stan said, smacking Cartman.  
  
"I did not!" Cartman said. "That's hearsay - I mean - slander!" He got into a slap fight with Stan that ended with Cartman being shoved over and running out of the room saying that he hated all of them.  
  
"I don't even know why he came," Stan said. He actually looked kind of flustered, which was new. Normally Cartman's antics didn't bother him much.  
  
Kyle unwrapped the rest of his gifts: a Play Doh Pizza Factory from Butters, an Indiana Jones action figure from Token, and a pack of chewing gum from Kenny. They all hung around for a bit, but Kyle could see them getting antsy before too long; it was a beautiful day outside. Only Stan stayed behind while the others rushed out to play in the sun.  
  
"He shouldn't have given you this," Stan said, taking the pack of gum from Kyle. "It's got sugar."  
  
"I can have sugar again someday, when my insulin stabilizes," Kyle said. He sighed and leaned back onto his pillows, exhausted just from twenty minutes of socializing. Stan stretched out beside him and watched him open the detective kit. They picked through its contents and read the instruction manual together.  
  
"I shouldn't have let Cartman come up here," Stan said while Kyle examined him with a magnifying glass. "He's such a dick."  
  
"Yeah, but it's not your fault," Kyle said. "I know what he's like when he wants something. He just wanted to give me a hard time."  
  
"Why, though?" Stan sat up, suddenly agitated. "It's your birthday, and you're sick, and it's just - what the hell is his problem?"  
  
"Dude, it's Cartman," Kyle said. "There's no point in trying to figure out why he does anything."  
  
He was relieved when Stan lay down again, had been afraid he would leave. They plotted out a game of detectives where Butters was the culprit, Cartman was the murder victim and Kenny was a double agent.  
  
"They'll just screw it up when we actually play," Kyle said. "Nobody - they're not as good at this as you. As me and you."  
  
"Yeah, but somebody has to be the murder victim," Stan said. They were quiet for awhile, Kyle filling out the information on his Junior Detective Registration sheet. He still felt sick, but having Stan with him was always a good distraction. Down the hall, Ike started wailing again, and Kyle groaned.  
  
"Why'd they have to adopt a stupid baby?" he said. "I'm supposed to act like he's my real brother. It's so dumb."  
  
"At least you don't have a sister," Stan said. "Girls are the worst."  
  
"Yeah." Kyle paused in the middle of filling out his detective credentials. "Except Wendy, right?"  
  
Stan shrugged. He didn't like to talk about Wendy, but Kyle knew he liked her. She was probably out in the park somewhere, waiting for Stan to come play house with her.  
  
"You can go if you want," Kyle said, wondering if it really did smell in his bedroom. How would he know if it did? Stan would be too nice to mention anything.  
  
"I don't want to go," Stan said.  
  
"Why not? I know it's boring, like. Just sitting around with me while everyone else is out having fun."  
  
"Dude, what are you talking about? You're my best friend. I'd have more fun waiting for a bus with you than I would at an arcade with those other dicks."  
  
"You would not," Kyle said, but he smiled.  
  
"You just have to get better," Stan said, reaching up to touch Kyle's forehead. "You - you are going to get better, right?"  
  
"Yeah, of course." Kyle was hurt for a moment, thinking that Stan was wondering how much longer he'd have to spend his afternoons in Kyle's bedroom, but when he looked up at Stan he seemed really worried. "Dude," Kyle said. "It's not like I'm going to _die_ or something."  
  
"I know that," Stan said, grumbling. He put his forehead against Kyle's shoulder and watched him color in the badge symbol at the bottom of his detective registration. Kyle's pajamas grew swampy with heat that wasn't sickness-related. He was embarrassed, and happy, thinking about Stan worrying about him. Was that the real reason he'd been coming over every day? Not just to be nice, but because he was afraid he might not get the chance again? He pressed himself more firmly against Stan's side, to reassure him.  
  
"What should my detective name be?" Kyle asked.  
  
"Uh. Kyle Broflovski?"  
  
"No, it has to be something cool, like - Max Chesterfield."  
  
"Max Chesterfield? That's not cool, dude. Your real name is better."  
  
Kyle sighed at Stan's lack of creativity, but he was grinning to himself as he wrote his real name on the top of the page. No one had ever said they liked his name before. It wasn't something he'd ever realized that he cared about, but when Stan said it - _your real name is better_ \- somehow it meant a lot.  
  
*  
  
His ninth birthday was much better, despite Cartman's attempts to bungle it. Cartman did end up joining them at Casa Bonita, but was quickly apprehended by authorities after his plot to get Butters out of the way was uncovered. It was all fairly typical Cartman, and once he was hauled off the rest of the trip to Casa Bonita went smoothly, except that Kyle's stomach kind of hurt on the ride home. He was in the backseat with Kenny and Stan on either side of them, both of them leaning over to watch him play Thrash 4 on his new Gameboy.  
  
"Do you think Cartman will have to go to juvey hall again?" Kyle asked.  
  
"Hopefully," Stan said. "Then we could have the whole summer without him."  
  
"Dude." Kyle looked up from the game. "That would be the best birthday present ever."  
  
"I can't believe he jumped off the fucking waterfall," Kenny said.  
  
"Never, ever let me invite him to a birthday party again, okay?" Kyle said. They agreed, but Kyle had a sinking feeling that Cartman would find a way to be there when he turned ten, too.  
  
They dropped Kenny off at home and Stan came back to the Broflovski house for a birthday night sleepover. Kyle's mom had bought the fixings for ice cream sundaes, but Kyle's stomach was still feeling tender, so he just had a few bites of Stan's. When they were through they brushed their teeth, changed into pajamas and climbed into Kyle's bed to take turns playing the Gameboy. When Kyle was playing, Stan rested his cheek on Kyle's shoulder, so Kyle did the same when Stan was playing. It was just the easiest way to see the screen, but Kyle couldn't help but think of how Cartman would tease the shit out of them if he saw this.  
  
Their eyes started to droop around one in the morning, and started to burn around two, so Kyle turned the game off and reached over Stan to set it on the bedside table. Stan took his hat off and hung it on one of Kyle's bed posts. Kyle left his on. He hated it when Stan - or anyone, but especially Stan - could see his hair.  
  
"Did you get everything you wanted?" Stan asked, yawning as they settled down onto Kyle's pillow. "For your birthday?"  
  
"Yeah," Kyle said. "Thanks for the skateboard. It's awesome."  
  
"Happy birthday, dude," Stan said. His eyes fell shut, and he reached up to tug on the flap of Kyle's hat. He fell asleep in mid-tug, and his hand stayed curled against Kyle's cheek, his fingers wrapped around the flap of his hat. Kyle thought about moving away, turning over, but he didn't want to. He kept his eyes open for as long as he could, watching Stan and waiting for him to wake up and be embarrassed about holding on to Kyle's hat. When he slept, he could still feel the weight of Stan's hand on his cheek, and it felt like a present Stan was giving him, better than the skateboard.  
  
*  
  
On Kyle's tenth birthday there was a bad thunderstorm that canceled his family's plans to go to Stark's Pond for a barbecue. Instead, the guests who were supposed to join them there packed into the Broflovski house, and the boys were relegated to the basement while the adults partied upstairs. Kyle's parents had invited Cartman and his mother, despite Kyle's protests, and Cartman was trying to organize everyone into a game of Ghost Hunters while the lights flickered overhead, thunder rattling the walls of the house.  
  
"Ghost Hunters is retarded," Kyle said, sitting next to Stan on the sofa that everyone was piled onto, watching Ike and Butters play a stupid video game that Butters had brought from his house.  
  
"This party is retarded," Clyde said.  
  
"I'm so bored," Craig said. Kyle glowered at them.  
  
"Fine, assholes," he said. "Play Ghost Hunters with Cartman, I don't care. I'm not playing, though." He looked at Stan, wanting confirmation that he wouldn't play, either. Stan bumped his elbow against Kyle's, which was confirmation enough.  
  
The power went out with a _thump_ before Cartman could even begin to gloat about the failure of Kyle's party. There were shouts of surprise from upstairs, and somebody – Butters, probably – whimpered.  
  
"Uh oh," Ike said when the power didn't flicker back on.  
  
"It's okay," Kyle said. He got off the couch and felt around until he'd found his brother's arm. "Don't be scared. Let's find the flashlights."  
  
"Dude, you guys know what this means," Cartman said. His voice was more irritating than usual when it seemed to emanate from thin air in the pitch dark basement. "The ghosts are pissed off. They're on the hunt."  
  
"T-the hunt?" Butters said.  
  
"Yeah," Cartman said. "At least one of us is going to get their eyeballs eaten by a ghost before the power comes back on."  
  
"Eyeballs!" Butters shouted. Ike tensed up at Kyle's side, and Kyle huffed with annoyance, lifting his little brother into his arms.  
  
"Cartman's lying," Kyle said. "He's just trying to scare you."  
  
"My dad knows a guy who got his eyeballs eaten by a ghost," Craig said.  
  
"God, Craig," Stan said. "You are so fucking stupid."  
  
"I am not! Ask my dad! It's true!"  
  
Kyle moved toward the sound of Stan's voice, holding Ike with one arm and feeling for Stan with the other. He wasn't afraid of the dark, but the sound of the storm outside was making his heart pound. Why hadn't their parents opened the basement door to tell them everything was okay?  
  
"If you feel something tap the end of your nose, that's the ghost getting ready to gouge your eyes out," Cartman said. Two seconds later, predictably, Butters screamed.  
  
"I felt it!" he said, crashing into everyone as he ran in circles in the dark. "I felt it! Oh my God!"  
  
"Stop!" Kenny said. There was a crash and an _oof_ like maybe Butters had gotten tackled. "Cartman, shut up."  
  
"I'm just trying to give you guys fair warning," Cartman said. "Obviously I know more about paranormal science than anyone here."  
  
Kyle knew he'd found Stan when he reached out and felt the familiar fabric of his jacket collar. He set Ike down and let him huddle between them. Stan took the end of Kyle's sleeve and held it.  
  
"Why does my birthday always suck?" Kyle asked, muttering. "Oh, yeah. Cartman."  
  
"It doesn't always suck," Stan said. "It'll be better later. We can play Guitar Hero." He reached into Kyle's sleeve to squeeze his wrist. Butters was still crying about how the ghost was going to eat his eyes, and Kenny was trying to calm him down. The door at the top of the basement stairs opened, and Kyle's mother poked her head in, shining a flashlight down onto them. Before the light could sweep over them, Stan let go of Kyle's wrist. Kyle felt dazed, and held a hand over his face when the light hit his eyes.  
  
"Don't worry, boys," Kyle's mother said. "We'll get the power back in just a minute."  
  
"But there's ghosts!" Butters cried. "They've already been released!"  
  
"Don't be silly, boys."  
  
She passed out flashlights, and they spent the rest of the party playing laser tag with them, ghosts forgotten. It was fun, running around in the dark and crashing into each other. Whenever Kyle found Stan he'd get stupidly excited, both of them grabbing each other's arms, holding on to the back of each other's t-shirts, darting away from the advancing beam of Cartman's flashlight.  
  
The lights were still out when Kyle's cake was served upstairs, and the ten candles seemed especially impressive as they glowed through the darkness. He paused before blowing them out, not sure what he wanted to wish for. Usually he had something in mind: a new game system or Cartman's untimely demise, but this year he wanted something that he couldn't put his finger on, something that was making his chest feel so full it was almost scary.  
  
"Go on, dude," Stan said, softly, close to Kyle's ear. A playing card flipped over somewhere inside Kyle, a delicate and tremendous shift, and he shut his eyes before blowing his candles out with one breath. He still wasn't sure what he'd wished for, just knew that it had something to do with Stan, and reaching out through the dark to find the solid shape of him.  
  
*  
  
Kyle's eleventh birthday party was held at the big bowling alley and arcade complex out by the highway, and he had girls there for the first time ever. Stan brought Wendy, who brought Bebe. Kyle wasn't the center of attention so much as Bebe, who all of the other guys were trying to impress. Stan and Wendy were as quiet and calm as an old married couple, sitting at the end of the long table that Kyle's mother had decorated, embarrassingly, with helium balloons and confetti.  
  
Their first year in the junior high had been hard for Kyle, though his grades were good. Things were changing. Stan and Wendy were just an abstract concept in elementary school, but now they seemed to know things that the other kids didn't, their interactions so different from the frantic way Clyde and Token competed for Bebe's attention. Stan and Wendy had secrets of their own, and Kyle had spent the past year realizing that he wasn't going to get what he'd wished for on his tenth birthday.  
  
While the others convened around the DDR machine, Kyle walked out to the parking lot and sat on the curb. He was starting to actively dislike birthdays. Cartman was here at the party, of course, though Kyle hadn't invited him. He did whatever he wanted, and Kyle was tired of expending energy on trying to stop him. When Cartman pushed out of the front doors and walked over to Kyle, he didn't protest or look up.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" Cartman asked.  
  
"Nothing," Kyle said. "Leave me alone."  
  
Cartman sat down beside him. He smelled like cheese fries and sweat. Kyle waited for him to start ragging on him, and turned to look at him when he didn't. Cartman actually looked distraught, something Kyle had only ever seen when he was denied food.  
  
"Stan and Wendy are such assholes," Cartman said.  
  
"No, they're not," Kyle said, though he was feeling the same way, lately.  
  
"They're all like, 'ooh look at us, we're so great, just because we do fingerbang on each other after school!'"  
  
"They do not do that!" Kyle said, his face heating. He still wasn't entirely sure what fingerbang was. Stan and Wendy probably knew. They'd probably laugh if Kyle asked them to explain.  
  
"Stan is a total douche now," Cartman said. His hands were twisting like he wanted to ring the neck of something smaller than him. "Actually, he always was, but he's extra shitty now. And Wendy, pshh. What a dumb bitch."  
  
"Shut up," Kyle said. "She's not that bad." Sometimes he wanted to punch her, usually when she was giggling at something Stan said.  
  
"What, do you have a crush on her or something?" Cartman asked, whirling on him. "Is that why you're out here crying like a little vagina?"  
  
"I don't have a crush on her," Kyle said, shoving him. "She's Stan's girlfriend."  
  
"Maybe you have a crush on Stan, then, huh?" Cartman said, getting in Kyle's face. He wasn't as collected as he usually was when he gave Kyle a hard time, seemed kind of crazed.  
  
"Fuck you," Kyle said, standing. He'd been anticipating that accusation, but from Cartman it didn't mean anything. He'd always called Kyle and Stan fags.  
  
"Dude, it's so obvious," Cartman said, following Kyle back toward the arcade. "You want to fingerbang with Stan all night long."  
  
Kyle ignored him and went back to the table, where Butters and Kenny were eating cake. Stan and Wendy were bowling, even though Stan said yesterday that bowling was totally gay. Bebe and Token were with them, all four of them laughing about something. Stan was three inches taller than Kyle now. They still slept together in Kyle's bed every Friday night, but they didn't fit together like they used to.  
  
"Are you having a swell birthday, Kyle?" Butters asked. He had frosting at the corner of his mouth, and was smiling so stupidly that Kyle kind of wanted to punch him, too.  
  
"It's fine," Kyle said. He met Kenny's eyes and could see Kenny reading his mind. Kenny turned back to his cake, and didn't say anything about Stan and Wendy.  
  
"You sure got a lot of nice presents," Butters said, seeming to grow uncomfortable. He looked over at Kenny and smiled when Kenny wiped the frosting from the corner of his lip with this thumb.  
  
"At least Cartman found someone else to harass," Kenny said. Cartman had crashed the bowling game and was fighting with Wendy. Stan turned from the altercation and met Kyle's eyes. He smirked and waved. Kyle waved back, feeling as if he was doing so from a thousand miles away.  
  
"Kenny?" Kyle said.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"What's fingerbang?"  
  
"I told you guys," Kenny said. He glanced at Butters, who was peering at him curiously, waiting for an answer. "Remember?"  
  
"That's so gross," Kyle said.  
  
"What is it?" Butters asked before Kyle could wonder out loud if Stan and Wendy really did that, or ever would. Kenny leaned over to whisper the answer into Butters' ear, and Butters giggled crazily, blushing and covering his mouth with his hands. Kenny was grinning when he pulled back, seemingly pleased by this reaction. Neither of them had joined in when the others attempted to impress Bebe. Cartman hadn't, either. He was still fighting with Wendy, and Stan was just looking on. He seemed bored, and turned to catch Kyle staring at him again. This time they didn't wave or grin; both of them looked away fast.  
  
*  
  
On Kyle's twelfth birthday he went to the amusement park, no longer too short for the scary rides. Some of them still scared him, but only at first. Once he was screaming his lungs out with Stan at his side, it was just fun, enough to make him choke with laughter. As usual, Cartman wasn't invited but showed up anyway, with no gift. Butters bought Kenny a soft pretzel and soda with his allowance money, and Kyle and Stan laughed awkwardly when Kenny asked if they remembered the day when he ate candy off the floor.  
  
"I'll give you ten bucks if you chew that gum," Cartman said to Kenny, pointing to some ancient-looking blue gunk that was stuck on the bottom of the table next to theirs.  
  
"Sick, dude," Stan said. "I'll give you ten bucks not to."  
  
"Fifteen," Cartman said, digging in his pocket. Kenny flicked him off, and Cartman huffed. "I guess he doesn't need money now that he's Butters' whore."  
  
"Shut up, Eric," Butters said, scowling. "He's not my whore!"  
  
Stan and Kyle busted out laughing at Butters' indignation, and when Kyle got up to buy more tokens, Stan followed. They played skee ball together for awhile, and Kyle tried to beat down the things that he didn't want to think about when Stan was close. Stan had broken up with Wendy for the ten thousandth time, but even if they never got back together again, the thoughts Kyle had about him were still pointless and stupid. He only let them creep in when they were most dangerous, when Stan was spending the night, asleep next to him in bed. It was just too hard to fight it, then.  
  
"I think Kenny might be Butters' whore for real," Kyle said when they were waiting at the ticket counter, pooling their tickets so they could get a mini basketball. Stan turned to look at Kenny and Butters, who were talking together at the table while Cartman bought more food.  
  
"Maybe," Stan said. He shrugged and looked at Kyle. "Can't say I'm surprised about Butters. Or Kenny."  
  
"But Kenny always liked girls," Kyle said, his face starting to get hot. "Boobs, anyway."  
  
"I guess you can like both?" Stan said. "Or maybe Butters is enough like a girl for him."  
  
"He doesn't have boobs, though," Kyle said. He was sweating under his t-shirt, trying to come up with a way to break eye contact with Stan without seeming too conspicuous.  
  
"They're weird," Stan said. "But whatever. At least Kenny isn't eating off the floor anymore."  
  
Kyle was pissed off as he watched Stan trade the tickets for the basketball, and he had no idea why, except that this conversation he kept trying to have with Stan never went where he wanted it to. The problem was that he really didn't want it to go _there_ , but he hated having a secret that Stan didn't know about. It actually hurt, a fire in his chest that he knew he should want to smother. Sometimes he just wanted to let it rage until it consumed everything, because that might hurt less than letting it go out forever.  
  
They left the amusement park after dark, Cartman getting a ride home with his mom since he technically hadn't been invited anyway. Butters sat up front and talked to Kyle's father about the cupcakes he'd made for Kyle's birthday, and Kenny fell asleep with his head against the window in the back. Kyle was in the middle seat, like aways, leaning toward Stan. Like always.  
  
"Let me see your hand," Stan said. Kyle held his hand out uncertainly, his breathing coming to a stop as Stan took it and held it in his, studying the lines on Kyle's palm. "Wendy taught me how to read palms," he said. "It's stupid."  
  
"Yeah," Kyle agreed, though he didn't want Stan to let him go. Stan put his finger against one of the lines and traced it down to Kyle's wrist, making him shiver.  
  
"That's your life line, I think," Stan said. "It's long, so that's supposed to be good." He looked up at Kyle, who was trying to stay perfectly still, afraid that he would pop a boner if he shifted his knee the wrong way.  
  
"I used to worry that you were going to die," Stan said.  
  
"What?" Kyle said. He pushed out a shaky laugh. Stan was still touching him, his hand cupped around Kyle's. He would feel Kyle shaking, but Kyle could lie, could say that he was just cold from the blast of the car's air conditioning.  
  
"When you'd get sick," Stan said. "I might have believed in something dumb like palm reading back then. I wish Wendy would have told me this when we were little. I would have looked for your life line."  
  
"You didn't really worry that much," Kyle said, not sure what was happening. Stan let go of his hand and looked out the window.  
  
"Yeah, I did," he said.  
  
Kyle wanted to put his head on Stan's shoulder, to pretend to be asleep and breathe in the smell of his t-shirt, that warm skin scent that he left behind on Kyle's pillow after a sleepover. He was still shaking, not sure where to look. Butters was talking about strawberry frosting and white chocolate sprinkles.  
  
"Stan," Kyle said, but then he wasn't sure what to say next. Stan didn't turn from the window, but he pushed his elbow against Kyle's. He had the mini basketball balanced between his knees. Kyle reached over to take it, just to have something to do with his hands.  
  
"Seems like Cartman didn't ruin your birthday this year," Stan said.  
  
"Not yet," Kyle said.  
  
Cartman didn't make any further appearances that night. Butters and Kenny got dropped off at their houses, and Stan came back to Kyle's to spend the night. They were both quiet as they got ready for bed, and they split another one of Butters' cupcakes before brushing their teeth. Every bite made Kyle wonder what the strawberry frosting and white chocolate sprinkles would taste like on Stan's lips, his tongue.  
  
"So let me see yours," Kyle said once he'd worked up the nerve. Stan offered his hand as if he'd been waiting for Kyle to ask. Kyle wasn't even sure which one was the life line, could barely see straight as he ran the tip of his finger down Stan's palm. Stan's fingers twitched like they wanted to close around Kyle's, but he kept his palm open.  
  
"We have to die on the same day," Kyle said. "Okay?"  
  
"Okay," Stan said, nodding.  
  
They looked up at each other then, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, their toothbrushes drying on the edge of the sink. Stan had kept a toothbrush at Kyle's house for sleepovers since they were eight years old. For a minute Kyle actually thought Stan was going to lean in to kiss him, and when he didn't, Kyle knew he would never wish for anything else when he blew out his birthday candles. That was always going to be what he wanted more than anything.  
  
*

Stan was so late to Kyle's bar mitzvah that Kyle thought he wasn't going to show at all. He missed the reading from the Torah, when Kyle's voice broke twice, missed most of the party food and almost missed the cake. Everyone who congratulated Kyle on his adulthood also asked where his little friend Stan was. The only consolation was that Cartman didn't make an appearance. He'd been threatening to ruin Kyle's party ever since he found out about Kyle's Hebrew lessons last year.  
  
"Dude, where the hell were you?" Kyle asked when Stan finally showed, breathless and disheveled, struggling to knot his tie.  
  
"I'm sorry," Stan said. He was sweating, and looked like he'd run there. They were standing outside of the reception hall, in the lobby, some awful D.J. that Kyle's parents had picked playing top 40 songs inside.  
  
"You missed everything," Kyle said. His voice was shaking, and only then did he realize how badly it had hurt to look out at his friends and family and not see Stan. Nothing felt real without him.  
  
"I'm sorry," Stan said. He gave up on the tie, leaving it half-knotted. "I had to – there was a Cartman-related errand."  
  
"Cartman?" Kyle's eyes burned. "Are you serious? Doing an errand for him was more important than being here for me?"  
  
"Dude – no!" Stan grabbed Kyle's shoulders. "I wasn't doing an errand for him – it was for you! He said he was going to dump pig's blood on you, and he probably couldn't have pulled it off, but it's never good to underestimate that asshole, so I kidnapped him and tied him up."  
  
"You – what?"  
  
"He's tied up in my room," Stan said. "It was harder than I thought it would be – fatass isn't as weak as he used to be. But I did it, and I made it in time for the cake, right?"  
  
Speechless, Kyle stared at Stan. He reached down and undid the mess of Stan's tie, smoothing it out before knotting it properly. He could feel the humidity trapped under Stan's clothes, could hear his heavy breathing beginning to slow down.  
  
"How do you know how to do that?" Stan asked, touching the tie after Kyle had fixed it.  
  
"It's part of being a man now," Kyle said. He looked up at Stan, though he was almost afraid to. Everything inside him was clawing at the words _I love you, love you, love you so much_ , trying to hold them in. Stan had kidnapped Cartman for him. He looked fucking adorable in his tie, his hair still messed up from running all the way there.  
  
"You're not mad at me?" Stan said. Kyle laughed and shook his head.  
  
"No, dude." He couldn't stop himself; he leaned forward and pulled Stan into a hug. "Thanks," he said, and Stan hugged him back, hard.  
  
"Happy birthday," he said. "Are you seriously a man now?"  
  
"Yeah, I seriously am," Kyle said. He stepped back and adjusted his yamaka. "In God's eyes, anyway. I could get married now. According to Jewish law." He blushed, wishing he hadn't said that. Stan raised his eyebrows.  
  
"Can I be your best man?" Stan asked, and the ladder to heaven that Kyle had been climbing was kicked over. He forced a smile.  
  
"Yeah, dude," he said. "Of course."  
  
They ate cake together, and danced with Kyle's dorky cousins. Stan rolled his sleeves up, his face still flushed from his tussle with Cartman. The black hole in Kyle's chest got bigger and bigger, because it was pointless to be able to get married, now or ever. He knew he should be happy to have a friend as good as Stan, who would risk the wrath of Cartman to make sure Kyle's big day wasn't ruined, but it was never enough. Stan gave him so much, but all Kyle knew how to do was want more.  
  
*  
  
By Kyle's fourteenth birthday, Kenny and Butters were infamous as South Park Junior High's first established gay couple, and Mysterion was famous for beating up anyone who gave them a hard time. They'd both gotten stupidly cute, and all the girls twittered with approval when they walked down the hall together, Butters hugging Kenny's arm. The whole thing made Kyle want to break windows.  
  
Stan was back together with Wendy, and Kyle agreed to let them set him up with Bebe on a double date for his birthday. He would have rather spent the evening watching Cartman eat buckets of fried chicken, but he was tired of fighting the birthday curse. Every year, Stan found some new way to crush him without meaning to.  
  
They went to an Italian restaurant that the girls picked out. Kyle ordered ravioli and tried to appear interested while the girls talked about summer movies that they wanted to see. Bebe was pretty, which infuriated him, because if he could recognize that, why didn't he want to kiss her? He'd spent the better part of the past year jerking off to the thought of Stan coming into his room and lying on top of him. He wasn't even sure what he wanted after that: just Stan on top of him, kissing him, holding him, maybe stroking his face with his thumbs. If he could learn how to want even a little of that from Bebe he knew he'd be happier, but he clung to the thoughts about Stan anyway.  
  
"You know what would be fun to do after this?" Bebe said when the plates were cleared. "Karaoke!"  
  
"Ugh," Kyle said. He felt bad when they all stared at him with surprise. Stan shook his head.  
  
"I hate karaoke," he said. "We could go to the arcade?"  
  
The girls groaned. Kyle glanced over at Bebe. Apparently she'd always had a crush on him, but she didn't seem impressed.  
  
"Do you guys remember the clubhouse?" Wendy asked. "Truth or dare?"  
  
"Yeah," Stan said. "I set the whole thing up just so I could kiss you, and it totally backfired."  
  
"You were so cute," Wendy said. She touched Stan's nose and they grinned at each other. Kyle's hands fisted under the table. He'd recently theorized that Stan knew exactly what he was doing to him, and that he enjoyed it in some twisted, Cartman-esque way.  
  
"I'm just going to go home," Kyle said, standing. "My mom, uh. Made me a birthday cake."  
  
"Wait up," Stan said. He put some money on the table. "I'll come with you."  
  
"We're not invited?" Wendy said.  
  
"You don't even like cake," Stan said.  
  
They walked back to Kyle's house together, Kyle fuming in silence and Stan sneaking worried looks at him, kicking rocks. It was hot for late May, and Kyle hated Stan for smelling so good, like deodorant and marinara sauce. It would keep him up all night, and he'd wake up hard, would have to fake sleeping late until Stan got out of bed.  
  
"I guess you and Bebe didn't really hit it off," Stan said.  
  
"Did you actually think we would?"  
  
Stan sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. Kyle was getting increasingly angry. Stan was smart, and had always read Kyle easily. He was pretending not to know about Kyle just to save himself the embarrassment of having to talk about it.  
  
"It was Wendy's idea," Stan said.  
  
"Well, it was really brilliant, obviously."  
  
Stan grabbed Kyle's arm and stopped him, frowning. Kyle glowered at him but couldn't hold his gaze, had to look at Stan's shoulder. Kyle was still two inches shorter.  
  
"If you didn't want to do this stupid double date you should have told me," Stan said. His grip on Kyle's arm was unnecessarily tight.  
  
"I'm just tired," Kyle said. He was tired of every song he heard being about Stan. Tired of obsessing over the shape of Stan's mouth, the way his left canine tooth showed when he smiled. He was tired of standing upright, just wanted to slump against Stan's chest and close his eyes.  
  
"Wendy's probably going to break up with me again," Stan said. "For tonight, for ditching her. She's always looking for an excuse."  
  
"So what?" Kyle shook free from Stan's grip. "You'll just get back with her in a few weeks."  
  
"It's so stupid," Stan said. His eyes were unfocused, his brow slightly creased. "The whole thing."  
  
"So why do you do it?" Kyle asked, almost shouting. Stan's eyes snapped to his, and Kyle wanted to back down, didn't want to fight. There were still a few hours of birthday left to salvage, and he would take what he could get: brushing his teeth beside Stan, climbing into bed with him, muttering goodnight before they turned their backs on each other.  
  
"I don't know why I do it," Stan said. "I guess 'cause it's easy. 'Cause with Wendy I don't have anything to lose. She's the same way with me. We're dysfunctional."  
  
"Congratulations," Kyle said, mumbling. He tried to walk away, but Stan caught him again and yanked him back. "What?" Kyle said, scowling as heat raced across his cheeks.  
  
"Don't you think it's stupid?" Stan said. "The four of us tonight – just like when we were kids, in that clubhouse – all this fucking effort and nobody's kissing who they want to."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Kyle asked. Stan cursed unintelligibly and let go of Kyle, dragging his hands through his hair. He seemed to be about to say something when Cartman roared around the corner on the dirt bike that his mother had bought him for Christmas. He drove toward them and stopped, pushing the stupid goggles he wore whenever he rode the thing onto his head.  
  
"Hey fags," Cartman said, planting his feet and letting the bike idle. "What's up?" Cartman had gotten taller over the past year, and he was cocky in a brand new way, thinking he was hot shit just because he got some seventh grade girl to kiss him.  
  
"Nothing, we were just out with Wendy and Bebe," Stan said. Kyle watched Cartman's face harden at the mention of Wendy's name. He was pretty obviously in love with her, and Kyle had never thought he'd have anything in common with Cartman, but they both boiled with rage every time Stan and Wendy reunited.  
  
"Yeah?" Cartman said. "And I guess you ditched them so you can go back to Kyle's house and make out with each other?"  
  
"Fuck off," Stan muttered. He started to walk away, pulling Kyle along with him.  
  
"Everyone knows that's what you give Kyle for his birthday every year," Cartman shouted after them, making kissy noises. "That's really nice of you, Stan. He probably gets down on his knees and begs you for it."  
  
The sound that ripped out of Kyle's throat then was unrecognizable even to him, and he dove for Cartman, but Stan grabbed his arms and stopped him. Cartman laughed and shoved his goggles back down, peeling away from the curb. Kyle was still fighting Stan's grip as Cartman drove away, spitting and cursing and ready to turn and fight Stan instead when Cartman was gone.  
  
"Why didn't you let me hit him?" Kyle roared, whirling on Stan. "You fucking dick!" He shoved Stan, who stumbled backward, stunned. "You just – you don't care if he says that shit about me, you probably like it. You like the idea that everyone thinks that I beg you to – to – "  
  
"No, you dumb ass," Stan said, coming at him so hard that Kyle shrank. Stan grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, his teeth gritted as he brought his face down close to Kyle's. "I don't give a fuck what people think. I just want -" He lost steam there, his eyes softening, and shook his head. Kyle was afraid he would storm away, but he kept Kyle's wrist closed tightly in his hand as he walked away, dragging him all the way back to Kyle's house, breathing hard, saying nothing.  
  
Neither of them answered Kyle's mom when she called out from the kitchen, asking them if they wanted cake. Stan pulled Kyle up the stairs, huffing his breath, and Kyle was still afraid that Stan was going to kick his ass when he pushed Kyle into his room and closed the door behind them.  
  
"Kyle," Stan said, looking furious, terrified, then furious again. "I'm going – I –" He walked forward until Kyle's back was pressed to his bedroom door. He could feel his Einstein poster crinkling behind him as he told himself over and over that he wasn't going to get what he wanted. Stan flattened his hands on either side of Kyle's head, leaned in and stared down into his eyes, his lips parting.  
  
"I'll beg if you want," Kyle said, his voice cracking, and Stan moaned, shaking his head. He pressed his lips to Kyle's, cautious, like he'd never done it with Wendy or anyone else. They checked each other's eyes, cheeks on fire, and when Stan kissed him again Kyle opened his mouth, the tip of his tongue sneaking out to touch Stan's. They both sighed, eyes sliding shut as they breathed into each other. Kyle could hear his mother's footsteps on the stairs, but he couldn't stop kissing Stan, tasting marinara sauce and Pepsi, just wanted to keep doing this forever, his mouth soaking wet under Stan's.  
  
"Kyle?" his mother said, on the other side of the door now. She knocked, and Kyle felt every reverberation against his back, but Stan was still kissing him, and Kyle was still floating, alive inside his dreams.  
  
"Do you boys want cake? Is everything alright in there?"  
  
Stan laughed against Kyle's mouth and pulled back to give him a heavy-lidded look. Kyle was smiling too hard to speak.  
  
"We're okay," Stan called. "We'll be right there."  
  
"Well. Alright." She paused, listening, and they just panted against each other's lips until they heard her walking away again, back down the stairs.  
  
"Dude," Kyle said, whispering. "Fuck."  
  
"Yeah," Stan said, and he kissed him again, until their chests were heaving together, both of them fighting for breath.  
  
Eventually they went down for cake, and they both ate ravenously, two big pieces each. Upstairs, in Kyle's bed, the frosting tasted so good on Stan's lips, better than it ever had on a birthday cake.  
  
*  
  
By Kyle's fifteenth birthday, he was very familiar with the concept of a fingerbang, but sometimes he wasn't sure which way was up when it came to Stan. They weren't like Kenny and Butters, in each other's laps at school and making plans to run away from South Park together after graduation, and even when they were alone together, they didn't talk about what was happening between them. As soon as they were behind a locked bedroom door they were on each other, ripping at belt buckles and tearing down zippers, flinging their t-shirts away. It had been a full year of dizzying make outs that were partially clothed only due to impatience, one of Stan's hands down the front of Kyle's jeans and the other, eventually, down the back, spit-slick fingers making Kyle scream into Stan's mouth when he came. It was everything Kyle wanted, falling into shallow naps with Stan's heartbeat under his ear and waking up to the sleep-scented heat of his body, but they were both still hiding what they were from everyone else, and considering that Kenny and Butters were getting away with it, Kyle was afraid to wonder why.  
  
"So what should we do for your birthday?" Stan asked as they walked home from their regular summer morning routine of pick up basketball with Token and Craig and whoever else was hanging around.  
  
"I don't know," Kyle said, kind of surprised that Stan didn't have anything planned for him. He used to take Wendy out on her birthday, and would bring flowers to school, would give them to her at her locker with everyone watching.  
  
"I have a present for you," Stan said, smiling to himself. "When do you want it?"  
  
"Right now?" Kyle said. Stan laughed.  
  
"Can't give it to you now," he said. He shot Kyle a mischievous look that sent a throb of interest down the length of his cock. Stan kept getting taller and cuter and better at making Kyle hard just by letting his dark blue eyes fill with promises like the ones they were making now.  
  
"After I take a shower?" Kyle said, and Stan nodded.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "I was gonna wait 'til tonight, but I don't think I can."  
  
Kyle's heart was racing as they neared his house. He was afraid Stan might want to fuck him, that getting fucked would be his birthday present. Kyle wasn't ready for that, though he researched it obsessively and pressed his hips back for more whenever Stan pushed a finger into him. The problem with not talking about any of this was that it left Kyle without a map, and the longer this went on the more he felt like he needed some direction. He wanted to lose his virginity to Stan someday, had already lost his heart, but he was afraid of what else doing this with his best friend might cost him.  
  
They took turns in the shower at Kyle's house, and Kyle was hard by the time he got out, hiding it as best he could as he crossed the hall to his room, where Stan was waiting, already showered. Kyle locked the door behind him and blushed as he crossed the room, still holding his towel around his waist. They'd seen each other naked, but it was weird to be standing in the middle of the room while Stan was mostly hidden under the comforter on the bed. Stan's cheeks were pink, too.  
  
"C'mere," Stan said. Kyle dropped the towel and hurried under the blankets, his embarrassment evaporating as soon as his soap-clean skin was pressed to Stan's. They kissed and twisted together under the blankets, Kyle's leg pushing up between Stan's, arms locking around his back. Stan's skin was warm from the shower and the blankets and the sweat that they'd worked up and washed off. Kyle let his head fall back as Stan's mouth traveled down his neck, until he was lapping at the hollow of Kyle's throat.  
  
"I love that you have freckles right here," Stan said, rubbing his fingers over the spit trails that he'd left on Kyle's skin. Kyle just smiled up at him stupidly, drifting in the glow of his adoration. Sometimes he wondered what Stan really wanted from him, but never when they were in bed together, when Stan looked at him like this, like he was perfect.  
  
"So where's my present?" Kyle asked. He'd decided, in the shower, that if Stan sprung actual fucking on him he'd probably let him do it. It would probably be good, and it wasn't as if Kyle wasn't fucked already, tied to Stan forever, at his mercy.  
  
"I'm getting to it," Stan said. He was stroking the line of Kyle's jaw, peering down at him, looking a little nervous. His fingers skimmed down under the blankets, over Kyle's chest, along the skinny trail of hair on his stomach. Kyle let his eyes fall shut and his legs spread wider as Stan's hand closed around his cock. It all felt so easy after a full year's worth of practice, but it was still a miracle, every time.  
  
"Yeah," he said, exhaling the word into Stan's mouth as it closed over his. A full day of this was really all he wanted for his birthday, punctuated by naps and cuddling, maybe some Pop Tarts.  
  
"You look so fucking good like this," Stan said, stroking him, speaking into his mouth. Kyle's eyes fluttered open, and his face got hot as he thought about how he looked, liquid heat in Stan's hands.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like – when you feel good," Stan said. The pink on his cheeks turned red. He licked his lips. "I want to, um. Blow you? And you can come in my mouth. For your birthday. Or whenever you want, really."  
  
Kyle groaned and leaned up to kiss him hard, nodding. They'd never tried sucking each other off before; it seemed too complicated, whereas the groping and fingering was more organic. But he was more than ready for it, and was looking forward to returning the favor almost as much as getting it from Stan. He let out a choppy breath as Stan began to kiss his way down his chest, pushing the blankets out of the way as he went. Kyle felt the heat of Stan's breath on his cock before the first cautious press of his tongue, and he bit his hand to keep from shouting as Stan's licked around the rim. His hips twitched desperately when Stan took him into his mouth, and Stan held them steady, sinking down lower, taking him in deep.  
  
"Ah!" Kyle was trying not to thrash, trying not to blow his load before things really got started, rapidly losing control. He wrenched his eyes open and let himself look down at Stan, watching his lips slide up to the tip and then back down again, his tongue so hot along the underside. Kyle groaned with as much restraint as he could manage, wishing that Ike wasn't home, that he could scream Stan's name.  
  
"Dude," Kyle whispered, taking two handfuls of the blankets, bracing himself. "I'm gonna – yeah, like that. Oh, _fuck_." He threw his head back, arched up into Stan's mouth. "Ah – yeah – gonna come."  
  
He shouted when he did, too far gone to care about Ike hearing. All the tension in his body went straight down Stan's throat, swallowed up, and Kyle was left boneless and panting on the sheets, watching Stan pull off of his cock, his throat still bobbing. He gave the tip a final lick and Kyle whimpered, reaching for him.  
  
"So, happy birthday," Stan said as he flopped onto Kyle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was grinning, nuzzling Kyle's jaw, rock hard against his leg.  
  
"I'll do you, obviously," Kyle said. "Just let me – shit. Give me a sec."  
  
"You don't have to," Stan said, but he was humping Kyle's leg hopefully.  
  
"I want to," Kyle said, rolling toward Stan. He pushed his nose against Stan's and tried to steady his breathing, their eyelashes bumping together.  
  
"Kay," Stan said. "But you should, like. Bask in the aftermath for a minute, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Kyle said. He scooted down and hid his face against Stan's chest, breathing in the smell of him, close to falling asleep. The questions that he was afraid to ask were bubbling in his chest, the cauldron that Kyle kept them in threatening to spill over. Would it always be this good, this easy? Would Stan ever want anything else? Anyone else?  
  
"I got you another present, too," Stan said. He leaned over Kyle and grabbed his jeans from the floor, pulling out his wallet. Inside there were two Sea Park tickets and a rolled up bag of weed. Kyle laughed hard, rolling against Stan's chest again. They'd always joked that someday they would get high and go see the whale show.  
  
"I don't even know how to smoke," Kyle said, tracing Stan's collarbone, so giddy that he felt a little sea sick. Stan had been faking before; of course he planned something.  
  
"I've heard it's easy," Stan said. "I figured we could go over to Kenny's and get some – I don't know, rolling papers? A bong? I'm stupid about this stuff, but I thought it might be fun. We should probably smoke it over at Kenny's, too, since his parents wouldn't give a shit. He's the one I got this from, obviously."  
  
"Obviously," Kyle said. "Does that mean we have to spend part of my birthday with him and Butters?"  
  
"I figured Butters could be our designated driver," Stan said. "Is that okay?"  
  
"Sure, yeah, sounds good," Kyle said. It was a good plan, logical, but lately he hated being around Butters, who all but gave Kenny lap dances in public. Kyle didn't want that from Stan, but he wanted some of the other things. The little kisses on the cheek, maybe.  
  
"Did you tie Cartman up in your room so that he won't be able to crash?" Kyle asked, looking up at Stan, who laughed.  
  
"I can if you want me to," he said. He kissed Kyle's forehead, and Kyle started kissing his way down Stan's chest, thinking about how fucked up it was that he was looking forward to swallowing Stan's come, and trying not to think about the other, more fucked up things.  
  
*  
  
Most of their friends had figured out what was going on by the time Kyle turned sixteen. They made jokes about it, and Stan always blushed but never offered any confirmation. He never called Kyle his boyfriend.  
  
Kyle tried not to care, but he couldn't stop trying to figure out why. He lost his patience with Stan more and more easily, his secret anxiety about what they were for each other an angry thing that was always alive in his chest, making him take Stan's comments about his driving or participation in dorky after school clubs too personally. Stan was quick to apologize, which just made Kyle feel worse. Sometimes it was like he felt sorry for Kyle, and sometimes Kyle let himself wonder if all of this – the kissing, screwing around, the way Stan looked at him – was just a pity party. Everyone knew Kyle was in love with Stan, and Stan had always been willing to do anything for his best friend. If it was all just some elaborate favor, Kyle would shrivel up and blow away, even if Stan kept doing him this favor for the rest of their lives.  
  
On the morning of his sixteenth birthday, he woke up in Stan's bed, drowning in the smell of him that lived on his sheets. He'd spent the night after seeing a movie with Kenny and Butters, who were still together and still obnoxiously public about it. It had put Kyle in a bad mood, and he was glad to escape them and spend the rest of the night beating Stan's ass at video games, but in the light of the morning he was annoyed again, because Stan was kissing him awake, stroking his cheek, and Kyle couldn't enjoy it without thinking about how Stan would never want anyone to know that he could be this soft with Kyle. There were rumors at school that they were fuck buddies, but no one suspected that Stan could treat Kyle like he'd once treated Wendy, like he was more than an easy, desperate lay. No one thought of Stan as Kyle's boyfriend, just as the guy who was fucking him, and they hadn't even done that yet.  
  
"What time is it?" Kyle asked, grumbling. Stan leaned up on his elbow to look at the bedside clock. Kyle admired him, grudgingly. He always looked good first thing in the morning, soft and messy-haired.  
  
"Not even eight yet," Stan said, and Kyle groaned. "I just couldn't sleep. It's your birthday, dude. You're sixteen."  
  
"So?" Kyle said. "It's just another year."  
  
"Don't be like that." Stan cupped Kyle's face and rubbed his cheek with his thumb. "It'll be great. I got Clyde's cousin to loan us his waverunner. I know it's kind of redneck, but I thought it would be fun. We could take it up to Stark's Pond."  
  
"Great," Kyle said. He shut his eyes again, rubbing his face against the pillow, trying to go back to sleep. If there was only one waverunner, they'd have to ride it together, holding on to each other. Stan would be all uncomfortable, hoping no one was around.  
  
"Well, okay, I know it's not the best birthday surprise ever," Stan said. "But that's only part B."  
  
"Part B?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"What's part A?"  
  
Stan didn't respond, but when Kyle opened his eyes and looked up at him he knew, something weighty traveling down from Stan's eyes and settling in Kyle's chest. He heard Stan swallow with a click, watched him chew his lip.  
  
"Now that we're both sixteen," Stan said.  
  
"You want to fuck me," Kyle said. He huffed. "Like, 'Happy Birthday, Kyle, you get the honor of having your best friend's dick up your ass.'"  
  
Stan's silence was so heavy with hurt that Kyle was afraid to look at him.  
  
"It's not like that," Stan said, his voice thin. "I mean, I – I guess I thought you'd want to –"  
  
"Yeah, I want to," Kyle said, waving his hand through the air. "You know I do. Okay, yeah. Let's do it. It's about time, I guess. Everyone thinks we've been fucking since junior high."  
  
He looked up at Stan, watchful for his reaction to this statement. Stan still looked crushed, frozen, like Kyle just picked up the birthday cake he made for him and threw it in his face.  
  
"Dude," Stan said. "I don't just want to – I mean, what do you think – I mean –"  
  
"You don't have to pretend," Kyle said. He rolled away from Stan and stared at the bedroom window, his heartbeat hammering at the hollow his throat. He couldn't go through another birthday with this secret expanding in his chest. He wanted to press it into Stan's hand like a pocket knife, even if he'd just end up getting stabbed with it.  
  
"Pretend?" Stan said. He touched Kyle's shoulder like wasn't sure that he was allowed to.  
  
"I know I'm not – I mean, obviously we're not like Kenny and Butters." Kyle was so tired of comparing him and Stan to them, but it was impossible not to.  
  
"Not like them?"  
  
"You don't want anyone to know," Kyle said. His voice was stronger than he'd expected it to be, maybe because he'd practiced this conversation ten thousand times in his head. "About us."  
  
"Kyle." Stan scoffed and rolled him onto his back, frowned down at him. "You just said – everyone knows. Or they think they know. They think they know that we're fucking. I don't care."  
  
"Yeah, you don't care that they think you're getting off with me," Kyle said, the strength in his voice fading fast. "But you don't want – you don't want them to know – you'd never kiss me. Not where anybody could see."  
  
Stan stared down at him, his lips parted, eyebrows pinched. He actually seemed confused, which was almost funny. Kyle swallowed around the shake in his voice, trying to keep it contained.  
  
"Dude, if you want me to pinch your ass in public, I will," Stan said. Kyle groaned and threw his head back.  
  
"I don't want you to do what I want!" Kyle said. "That's all you ever do. It's like – it's like you just decided it would be easier if you gave in and let me have all my dumb fantasies. Like you were just trying to save our friendship or something."  
  
"Are you fucking _crazy_?" Stan asked, so loudly that Kyle was afraid his parents and sister would hear. He took Kyle's wrists and pinned them to the bed, as if Kyle was trying to escape. Kyle's chest was heaving, his eyes wet at the corners. Stan looked angry enough to spit in his face, but he just stared down at him in disbelief.  
  
"Do you lie awake at night and try to convince yourself that I don't love you?" Stan said, glaring at him, his grip on Kyle's wrists growing painful. "Why would you do that?"  
  
"I know you love me," Kyle said, though hearing it out loud was like being punched in the stomach, all the wind knocked from him, his voice shaking badly now. "But not – I don't think – not the way I want you to."  
  
"What do you need – what do you need to hear?" Stan asked. He was trembling, starting to look panicked, the anger draining from his features. "Please, I just – what do you need me to do, what do you need me to say?"  
  
"Are you my boyfriend?" Kyle asked, every word more painful and pinched up than the last. Stan moaned and pressed his forehead to Kyle's, closed his eyes. When he opened them again they seemed bluer, more like water.  
  
"Yeah," he said. "Are you mine?"  
  
Kyle nodded, incapable of speech. Stan kissed him, pushing a long, shaky breath into him, and Kyle felt it deep in his chest, stoking the fire there, letting it burn away all the rickety structures that he'd built to conceal the secret that he'd never really been able to keep from Stan.  
  
"Stupid," Stan whispered into Kyle's mouth. "I don't want to kiss you in front of those dicks because it's too – Jesus, I don't know, _special_. They don't get to see this shit. They'd taint it. And I don't want to talk about it 'cause it's like – I'm afraid I'll jinx it or something. I don't know. I guess I'm stupid, too."  
  
"You're not," Kyle said. He took a deep breath and let it out against Stan's cheek, letting Stan suck the tears from the corners of his eyes. "I am. It's like I wanted you to bring me flowers at my locker or something."  
  
"Your birthday's not during the school year, though," Stan said, so sincere and broken-looking that Kyle laughed. He leaned up to kiss him, trying to get used to the feeling of breathing without the weight of his anxiety pressing against his lungs.  
  
"I don't like flowers, anyway," Kyle said, sniffling. "But, just – this waverunner. Can I put my chin on your shoulder? Like, is that – allowed?"  
  
"You can shove your tongue down my throat in front of Cartman if you want to," Stan said. "Do you – want to?"  
  
"No," Kyle said, wincing. "I hate it when Kenny and Butters feel each other up in public. It's like they're showing off."  
  
"Exactly," Stan said. "So, I'm kind of – confused –"  
  
"I guess I just wanted you to want to show off," Kyle said, wilting. "With me."  
  
"You're too good for that," Stan said. He framed Kyle's face with his hands, kissed him everywhere. "If I've kept you like, secret or whatever, it's not 'cause I'm embarrassed or something, Jesus. It's 'cause I want to like, protect this. 'Cause it's perfect. When it's just you and me, it's so fucking perfect."  
  
Kyle moaned, kissed him, and spent the rest of the morning convincing him that he really did want to have sex, telling him so again and again, until he was basically begging for it. Stan gave in, like always, so nervous about hurting him that he took almost twenty minutes to even start to push in. Kyle let his eyes fall shut and tried to keep his breathing steady as Stan sank in deeper, until their chests pressed together, Stan's breath coming in huffs against his neck, their skin already beaded with sweat. They kissed while Kyle shifted under Stan, adjusting to the feeling, gasping when it sent sudden sparks up his spine. Stan only managed a few real thrusts before he came, and he jerked Kyle off before pulling out, sighing like his life had been saved when Kyle squeezed around him, when he fell apart beneath him.  
  
They stayed in bed for a long time, mostly just grinning at each other, sweaty under the blankets. Kyle couldn't stop touching Stan, because it felt kind of new, the heat of his lips and the squish of his ear lobe, the soft skin just under his jaw. Stan had his arm locked around Kyle's back, his forehead pressed to Kyle's. Kyle's hat was hanging on the bed post, his hair a mess on the pillow.  
  
"When did you know?" Kyle asked. He'd always been afraid to ask before, that Stan's answer wouldn't match his.  
  
"I can't remember that far back," Stan said. "I just always did."  
  
Kyle grinned and hid his face against Stan's neck. So their answers did match. Kyle couldn't separate being in love with Stan from any other thoughts he'd ever had. It was too closely woven into everything, and if there was a time when his bones were made from some other basic material, he didn't remember what it was, wouldn't want to know.


End file.
